Tell me your story
by Melancholy-Sky1507
Summary: „If you know everything about me, you will go, John." – John ignores Sherlocks warning. He wants to know everything. He decides: no more secrets between them. So Sherlock tells him the history of his life. Some of that what Sherlock tells him brings John to the laughter. A lot horrifies him. And some things let him cry…
1. Prologue: Nightmares

**Prologue: Nightmares**

John Watson stares confused into the darkness.  
The shout which has woken him up reverberates in his head.  
A loud and desperate shout.

 _Sherlock._

 _Again._

The third night in a row. And John has stopped to count, how often it has happened during the last weeks.  
He sighs and sits up in the bed. He feels as killed. Nevertheless, he forces himself to get up and walk down the stairs to Sherlocks bedroom.  
"Sherlock?" he asks quietly when he stands in the door to the pitch-dark room. He cannot see Sherlock. Everything what he can hear, are quiet, hectic gasps. Then there rustles a blanket.

"John?"

"Yeah. Its just me. I turn on the light, okay," John says quietly and presses the light switch.  
Sherlock lays groaning, an arm over his face when the light blinds him.  
John enters the bedroom and sits down sighing on the edge of the bed.  
"Nightmare?"  
Sherlock just nods.  
John looks at his friend exactly. Sees the weird hair. Sees how Sherlocks clothes sticks bathed in sweat to him. Sees the absolutely got mixed up sheets.  
"Badly?"  
Sherlock does not react.  
John sighs,"Sherlock, you have these nightmares really very often. Why do you simply not tell me from what they act? It helps to talk about that, you know. "  
"No."  
John is surprised about the hard and prompt answer.  
And a bit hurt somehow.  
"Why do you not want to tell it to me?"  
Sherlock takes his arm off his face and looks at John.  
John gets a fright when he sees pain in Sherlocks eyes.  
"I am not able to, John. I'm sorry."  
With this Sherlock slowly gets up and leaves the room in silence.

John stays down a moment. The thoughts race in his head. Why only Sherlock does not want to talk about his dreams...They torment him quite obviously. John himself knows a lot about nightmares. This Sherlock knows certainly. This John thought at least.  
Finally, completely confused he also gets up and goes in the direction of the sitting room where he supposes Sherlock.  
Really there sits his friend on the couch and has switched on the television.  
He zaps from one programme to the other without stopping at one. His fingers drum a worried rhytmus on the couch armrest. Sometime he growls irritated and switches off the television again. Buckles on the back and stares to the cover.  
John shakes his head and decides to make tea. Now of sleep is not to be thought probably any more.  
Outdoors the sun already starts to rise.

Silence rules between them. Also when they drink the tea together.  
Sometime Sherlock interrupts the silence.  
Unexpectedly.  
"I dream of the past," he says quietly and John looks up from his tea.  
"Past?"  
"Yes. There, there is something... Something what you do not know, John," Sherlocks says and his voice, besides, trembles easily.  
John swallows affected.  
"Then tell me about it."  
Sherlock quickly shakes his head. "I am not able to do this."  
"Sherlock, you are my best friend. And I...I know practically nothing about you," John says seriously. "You look at me, and you can read in me, like in a book. However, I am not able to do this."  
"It is better thus," Sherlock says moody.  
"No. It's not," John says stubbornly. "All the same what it is which has happened to you, so badly it cannot be that you cannot tell it to me!"  
Sherlock looks at him firmly. "If you know everything about me, you will go, John," he says hard.  
John swallows. Then he slowly shakes his head. "No. I would never do this. Please, Sherlock...I want to know everything. No more secrets!"

Sherlock takes a deep breath. Then he looks at John with a nearly desperate look.  
"Swear it. Swear that you will not leave me, John Watson. All the same what you hear."  
John nods immediately. "I swear it."  
However, in Sherlocks eyes there stands still doubt. "Everybody always goes," he says quietly, hardly audible.  
"I am not everybody, Sherlock."

A moment long both are quiet. Detailed in their own thoughts.  
Then Sherlock sighs deeply and nods. With a swing he drinks up his cup.  
"OK. Tomorrow we'll start."  
And with that he gets up and has disappeared in his room.

John sits there and drinks his tea to an end.  
He is incredibly excited.

Sherlock will tell him everything what he wants to know...Only John, only him. And something in John says him that it must cost unbelievable overcoming to Sherlock. And trust.

In John a warm feeling climbs up.

* * *

 **Opinions?**

 **Mistakes?**

 **Because: English is not my first language...  
**

 **I hope, you had fun while reading :)  
**

 **(This story is also on my german account, my name there: Melancholy Sky)  
**


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

The next day is a typical autumn day in London.  
Rain falls down on the town without interruption and a very cold wind goes through the streets.  
John is glad when he comes home from work and receives the warmth of the flat.  
With a relieved sigh he drops himself in his armchair and closes his eyes for a moment.

Sherlock is not at home.

John asks himself for a moment where his friend would be.  
Presumably in the lab in the Barths or with Scotland yard.  
Maybe there is a new case and Sherlock will tell him in short time, with an enthuastic expression on his face and with wild gesticulations, like he always does.  
John smiles.  
His life is so different since he knows Sherlock. Not in the negative sense. Who would have thought that John Watson would clear up once murder cases at the side of a brilliant detective?  
And, yes, this is Sherlock.  
Brilliantly.  
Even if he might not concede it to himself.

The conversation on the last day comes to his senses again.  
Sherlock let him swear that John would not leave him if he knew everything about him.  
Certainly Sherlock had been a little bit melodramatic, John thinks with a frown. Nothing in Sherlocks past can have been so awful. Certainly, John knows that Sherlock was addicted to drugs once; and the fact that his social life must not have been particularly pleasant he can also fancy, but these are things which are already known to him. Nothing what would particularly frighten him.  
With these thoughts in his head John gets up and puts on tea. He puts two cups on the culinary table and grips the actual newspaper to expel the time to Sherlock's return.

He must not wait long. After half an hour he hears how the door is unlocked below. He lays down the newspaper and awaits his friend who slowly steps by the door and hangs his wet coat on the hooks. Then he sits down to John and watches in silence how he pours tea into his cup. When Sherlock takes a careful gulp of the still hot liquid, it becomes suddenly clear to him that John is staring intensively at him. He looks up and wrinkles his forehead.  
„You can't expect it at all, or?" he asks easily irritated.  
Johns smile moved. „Well, you have said, today…"  
„Yes, John, I know," Sherlock groans and puts the cup a little bit too violently on the unterplate. Some drops of hot tea land on his hand which he pulls back hissing.  
John looks at him confused.  
 _What is this for a reaction?_  
Sherlock rubs his hand and sighs,"I'm sorry, John. But … I have never done this before … And I also do not know where I should start."  
John nods thoughtfully. „How would it be then simply at the beginning?" He suggests.  
Sherlock looks at him, a bit confused. „This comes on how you define beginning," he says carefully.  
„Uhm, I would say, the beginning begins with the birth."  
„Oh. Well. With that I can live," Sherlock says and sounds relieved. „Do you want it in a chronological order?"  
John twitches his shoulders. „Why not. I am completely directed after you."  
Sherlock nods sighing.  
"OK. Then we can start. I … I simply start, and stop sometime?" he asks uncertainly and John must smile.  
Sherlock is rare thus … moved. And John must say, he likes it.  
„Yeah, simply get cracking. And I will listen. And you can stop whenever you will," John says and leans back in his chair.  
Sherlock nods and then he takes a deep breath. „OK, let's get started."

* * *

 _As one can imagine in view of my whole life, my birth was also not usual particularly …._

 _I decided to come into the world while my parents sat mourning in the funeral parlour before the coffin of my grandfather._  
 _I came too early._  
 _And I was quick with it._  
 _There remained no more time for my mother to drive to a hospital, instead, she gave birth to me in the bed of the helpful undertaker._  
 _Without any medical help._

 _My mother loved it to tell this story to everybody which wanted to hear it._  
 _She called it her small miracle. The life which has originated in the face of the death.  
And she understood not at all, why most people were horrified about the circumstances of my birth._

 _For months I lived in a very peaceful world. My mother pampered me on the extreme. I myself have virtually no recollection of this time. I have everything from stories._  
 _It was told to me that I was a very quiet toddler. Too quietly. So quietly that my parents started to worry._  
 _I did not shout._  
 _I did not pack my bottle and threw it against the wall._  
 _Briefly, I did not behave like the typical babies. As normal as Mycroft has behaved, for example._

 _A doctor whom my parents visited could find nothing in me and explained, they should be simply glad about the fact that they had such a peaceful and quiet child.  
_

 _Thus I grew up. Protected, pampered and beloved.  
Actually, one should mean, these are the best conditions for a good, successful life … Actually._

 _The time passed, I became 5 years old and to my parents it became clear even more than before that I was not normal….  
While my brother, so incredibly it appears today, searched for friends from the neighborhood and played with them, I was not interested to be together with foreign people._  
 _I just wanted to be alone._  
 _Just once my parents brought the son from my aunt to me, who was at the same age, and expected that we would well get on._  
 _The whole one ended in the disaster._  
 _I ignored the other child completely. I simply switched it off, I was hidden in my own world of thoughts and did not perceive the boy any more.  
The son of my aunt was finally so frustrated, that he took one of my books and hit me on the head_ _with it_ _. Instead of shouting after my mother or crying, I did not react to it._  
 _Sometime my mother looked in the room, saw shocked how he still hit the book on my head and finished the whole situation._  
 _This was not the last time that somebody has used power against me from frustration._

 _One could have called me a dreamer. I practically never was in the reality. While my brother already developed the ability to look at everything rationally and seriously, one could have told me everything._

 _I believed in Santa Claus.  
And to the Easter bunny.  
And of course also to God. And I was rather afraid of God then respectful. In my images he threw flashes on people who did not behave by his wishes._  
 _I believed everything what I read in my books. I had taught the reading to myself with a little help by Mycroft. My favorite book which I read again and again was Peter Pan. And promptly, I thought that Peter Pan appeared sometime to bring me also after Neverland._

 _And then the next accident happened ._  
 _One evening I stood at the window and kept a lookout after Peter Pan._  
 _For any reason which I do not know today, I suddenly believed, he has really come. I do not remember this evening exactly, but I probably jumped out of the window to be able to fly in the faith, and landed rudely on the roof of the small hut before our house. I broke an arm and a foot ankle._  
 _My mother left the window tilted since then . Also in the midsummer._

 _She was it also who made a wise decision when I became six. She did not bring me in the kindergarden. She anticipated that it would become a traumatic experience for me. I am grateful for it to her even today._

* * *

Sherlock clears his throat and takes a gulp from his teacup.  
John looks at him amused. „You have seriously come into the world in a funeral space?"  
„Yes," Sherlock says and a skew smile lies down on his face. „You can certainly imagine how upset the undertaker was, when the fruit bubble of my mother has burst in the morgue…"  
John gives a little laugh and also takes a gulp of tea, that has got cold long ago.  
Outdoors it has been getting dark.  
Thoughtfully Sherlock looks out of the window and then gets up suddenly.  
„I am tired," he says and leaves the room in the direction of his bedroom.  
Surprised about Sherlocks quick retreat John looks after him.

At this night, John does not wake up from a shout.  
At this night he wakes up of a loud bang.  
Startled he sits up in the bed and looks around confused, the hand already on the weapon under his pillow.  
Again a bang. John starts.  
And then – a shout. Full of fury and desperation.

 _Sherlock …_

Quickly John jumps out of the bed, now wide awake and goes directly to the sitting room. What he sees there, lets him solidify in the door.  
Sherlock stands in the middle of the room and throws everything what he can reach with his hands against the wall.  
His eyes are open wide and his hair is absolutely chaotically. He breathes hard.  
When John steps carefully closer, a cup lands on the wall and the shards fly in all directions.

„Sherlock," John says quietly. He approaches his shaking friend warily. Sherlock does not seem to perceive him at first, however, then he easily turns his head and looks at John.  
John gets a fright at the desperate expression in Sherlocks eyes.  
„John. Go away John," Sherlock says hoarsely. „You do not understand this."  
John shakes his head easily and gets one step closer. He stretches out a hand to Sherlock.  
„Sherlock, let us talk about it, whatever…"  
„No!" Sherlock steps back from him quickly. „Do not touch me!"  
Startled John raises both hands. „Ok, Ok I will not touch you, alright? Let us just talk about it, yeah?"  
Sherlock stares at him lurking when John finally stands before him and smiles at him uncertainly.  
„What is wrong, Sherlock? Did you have a nightmare again?"  
Sherlock nods. And then John sees shocked that tears step in the eyes of his friend.  
„OK," John says as reassuringly as he could manage. „OK. Do you want to tell me about it?"  
Sherlock shakes his head violently and all at once he collapses in himself.  
„Go … leave me, John."  
However, John does not go.  
„I will not go," he says firmly and goes on his knees before Sherlock. "Never".  
Sherlock suddenly presses both hands against his head and sobs convulsively. The noise cuts John directly in his heart. He never has Sherlock seen cry. Has never seen him so weak. And it is damn frightening .  
„It should stop," Sherlock groans before him and digs his fingers into his hair. „Please..."  
John swallows and comes carefully a little bit closer to Sherlock. Then he stretches his arms out and lays them around Sherlock. He pulls his friend close to him.  
At first Sherlocks whole body tenses up and he gasps startled, but then he allows it that John pulls his shaking body at his breast, and holds him there firmly. And then he lets the tears come.  
Helplessly sobbing he lies in Johns arms and John holds him. Closes his eyes.  
„We will do this, Sherlock," he whispers quietly and feels how tears rise in his own eyes.  
„All the same what it is, we do this.

* * *

 **Did you like the first chapter? :)**  
 **Opinions?**  
 **Big Mistakes?**  
 **Tell me :)**


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The next morning comes and John stands somnolent in the kitchen and tries to whip eggs without dropping, besides, bowl in the frying pan.  
These constant interruptions in the middle of the night and then the clearing action in the early morning hours tug at his nerves, however, of course he would never reproach Sherlock with this.  
He knows what it's like if one is pursued by invisible demons. In the sleep one cannot run away before them and hide. In the sleep one is the most vulnerable for pain and the recollections…

Sherlock comes to the kitchen and sits down in silence to the culinary table. He observes how John stirs the eggs yawning and falls down nearly out of exhaustion when he turns round to the toaster.  
When John finally sits down on the other chair and distributes the eggs, he suddenly hears Sherlocks quiet voice. "I'm sorry."  
In amazement John sees high and meets Sherlock's piercing look.  
„What? You should be sorry for what?" he asks confused.  
„You are tired. I wake you over and over again," Sherlock says and lowers his head. „You should go, John. I am not good for you. "  
John stares at him with open mouth, he cannot believe what he hears here. He closes his mouth again and pours out himself and Sherlock tea. Then he takes a deep breath.  
„I will simply act in such a way as if I had not heard this," John says quietly.  
Sherlock looks at him in amazement, nevertheless, is quiet about it.  
They eat the scrambled eggs and John is relieved that he bites this time on no bowls as it has been the case yesterday…  
When they are ready, and drinks the tepid tea, Sherlock clears his throat.  
„Do you want to hear some more?"  
"Of course," John says smiling.  
„OK."

* * *

 _Sometime I had to go to school of course._  
 _I still know how I begged my mother not to send me there._  
 _When I noticed that she meant it really seriously, I even hid on the attic, firmly determined to endure there until the first school day would be over…_  
 _I kept myself for terribly clever, however, of course it got cold sometime and uncomfortable. And when I suddenly inhaled the smell of roast small sausages which penetrated by the floorboards, after I had eaten nothing for hours, I did not stand it any more and surrendered._

 _In this evening I went to bed full of fear. I had so much fear that I hardly slept this night._

 _The school was as awful as I had fancied it.  
There were too many people surrounding me, too much noises and too many foreign impressions. _  
_I sat down in the last row and tried to look very dull, in hope, one would simply overlook me, however, it did not function of course._  
 _A boy sat down beside me, and he simply did not stop talking. He asked me the strangest things about TV serials or comic figures from which I had never heard in my life…I was not interested in such a thing. I wished nothing more ardently, as that he will would stop to talk …_

 _Almost I was grateful when the class teacher shouted around for silence. However, this vanished when she spoke of an image round.  
I fell from all clouds.  
It was a sort of my worst nightmare. She wanted because not only that everybody said something after the row, no, she meant, it would be especially nice if everybody positioned itself shortly before the class.  
It was awful. When she called my name, I went as dazed forwards, no notion what I should do. I stopped in front, saw to ground and brought out no word. I took right that she knelt to herself before me and talked to me, however, all at once I felt that she laid a hand on my shoulder and this let me spin completely. _  
_I did not want to be touched._  
 _Already not at all from STRANGERS._  
 _She had to bring me out from the classroom when I started to cry, collapsed on the ground and dug my hands into my hair._

 _I did not stop crying, until one called, finally, my mother and asked her to bring me home._  
 _She did not say a lot when we went home.  
She held me in her arms and saw thoughtfully out the window of the bus.  
At home she brought me to bed. I was too exhausted to do anyhing, __except sleeping_ _._

 _The next morning she asked me to try it once again.  
I begged her to be allowed to stay at home, however, she remained hard. She explained to me that I should __only_ _sit there a few hours and that I would have to say nothing. I am_ _quite_ _sure that she has asked my teacher not to call me once again before the whole class. . ._  
 _I tried it once again her to love._

 _When I came to the class, everybody stared at me.  
Of course.  
I was the small freak who has broken down before the whole class, only because I should mention my name, my age and my favorite colour … _  
_I sat down again to the back and this time no one spoke with me what was very pleasant. And I simply stayed down and listened.  
Sometime I found out that it was really interesting to learn. To learn the new.  
I could already read of course.  
The fact that I was the only one which was able to do it, I had not counted on.  
And also I did not understand the surprise of the teacher when I could recite the whole alphabet to her without hesitating._

 _Thus it went well for a while, to itself a new problem proved…_ _everything_ _went too slowly for me._  
 _The other children seemed to be endlessly silly_ _to me_ _.  
They needed forever to learn a letter, while I was bored, besides to go over hundreds of times the H…  
Of course this also struck the teachers.  
Sometime they spoke, finally, with my parents and one decided to send me in a class for highly gifted kids.  
There it was substantially more tolerable. And more interesting.  
Since now came to mathematics in which I was the best, then chemistry…And there I was unbeatable. It was just simple for me. I could never have explained it though somebody to others, but I understood everything.  
Soon I read only chemical books, under the astonished looks of the teachers and schoolboys.  
I still went to the library in which I had arrived meanwhile with Victor Hugo and Charles Dickens._

 _Thus the school was actually really tolerable … If the people had not been there._  
 _They made me mad._  
 _I was alone constantly._  
 _I said nothing in the lessons. I received my good marks only by the written checks. I refused to take part in the verbal ones, even if I thereby received a bad mark…_  
 _I hated to be touched and of course I unnerved the other schoolboys with the fact that I was hardly able to express feelings, never mind, to read their gestures and facial plays properly._  
 _They confused me. I did not understand them. And vice versa it was the same, maybe._  
 _It was the school psychologist who suggested, finally, to my parents that they should letting examine me._  
 _However, they declined._  
 _They wanted no name for what was different with me._  
 _I am grateful for it to them even today.  
Since then one has made a lot of supposition, however, a diagnosis was never met._

* * *

Sherlock falls silent exhausted and drinks a gulp of tea to get rid of his dry throat.  
John looks at him thoughtfully.  
This story has shaken him. It does not sound after a brilliant child prodigy…Rather after an eccentric who was able though to understand figures and letters – however, no people.  
„Does this reach for today?" Sherlock asks him quietly and John nods.  
„Well. Since then there are no more so harmless stories," Sherlock says mysteriously and gets up to disappear in the bathroom.  
John remains a moment sit around about the heard to think and drinks thoughtfully his tea to an end.

John is so tired that he falls asleep in the afternoon, finally, exhausted in his armchair.  
When he wakes again, it is evening and darkly – and Sherlock is away.

Confused John looks around and sees that Sherlocks mobile phone lies on the table.  
And he discovers that he has not taken his coat, although it is ice-cold outdoors.  
Anxiously John gets up and makes sure that Sherlock really isn't in the flat somewhere.

Where to the devil can he be?

When he still considers what he should do, he suddenly receives a phone call.  
With a frown he looks on the display.  
Lestrade.  
Quick he decreases. „Yes?"  
„John. You should come," Lestrade says and sounds concerned and unnerved.  
„Is Sherlock with you?" John asks hopefully and, nevertheless, is worried.  
„Yes. But..." „Is he injured?" „No…, however, he is, uhm...He's got drunk, John. "  
Johns jaw falls down. „What!?"  
„He is very drunk. And he's talking…you should rather come here."  
John closes his eyes.  
„Scotland yard?"  
„Yes. Donovan was on patrol, has seen him and has brought him here so discreetly as possible. "  
A spark of gratitude for Sally Donovan stirs in John.  
„OK. I will be there immediately."  
"Alright."  
Anxiously John takes his and Sherlock's coat and leaves Bakers Street.

 **This chapter was difficult to translate...**  
 **So if you see big mistakes, please tell me :)**  
 **And opinions are also welcome of course**


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